Teapots and platypi
by AElfric's Cat
Summary: In which there is shower almost-invasion, strange hair, interesting friends, and lots and lots of tea. H/D pre-slash.


_Written for: **enchanted_jae** over at LJ as a very belated Christmas present to be posted in **hd_fluff**. Meets the April prompt #80 of 'garden.' _

_Super thanks to **dannyfranx**for being a beta of awesomeness and win. Love you guys! :)_

* * *

Harry ducks to one side as another red and white dinner plate smashes into the wall beside his head.

"Gin!" he exclaims, holding out his hands in a futile calming gesture. "Look – honestly! He wasn't right for you."

A snarl gives him a second's warning and he jumps to the left, narrowly avoiding being slogged by a matching cereal bowl.

"There was absolutely nothing wrong with Peter!" Having run out of crockery for the time being, Ginny's temper seemed to find an outlet in her face. Harry takes in the gradual reddening of her neck and cheeks, and calculates that should the red reach her ears, Bad Things would happen. He opens his mouth to explain himself – damn quickly – but the determined set of her brow tells him that rational explanations aren't going to cut it on this one.

"He walked in on me in the shower, Gin! In the shower!" he argues, throwing his hands up incredulously, as if that's somehow going to be more convincing. She's shaking now, and – yes, there it is: cherry ears. Harry snaps his jaw closed as Ginny's arm swoops out to point at him, waggling the Finger of Doom in his general direction. He's been on the receiving end of that finger before; he knows it's not a good sign.

Her face takes on a rigidly controlled expression, and he can see the tension in her jaw. "That does not constitute a reason for _booting him out of the HOUSE, Harry!"_ she grinds out, getting louder and more shrill. The red's all the way up to her temple now, and her hair looks like it's about to start sparking. Either that or her eyebrows are going to explode.

Defeatedly, Harry knows he's going to have to tell her all of it. In spite of the finger and all.

"Well, it does when he opens the shower door and offers to give me a hand!" A deathly silence breaks over the room and Harry knows he's in serious trouble.

"Gin?" he tries, as she closes her eyes. He can feel the wobble in his toes as the nerves start to flitter outwards. "Ginny?" Once more, as she reaches out to the counter-top.

"No, Gin – not the teapot!"

Apparating _toute suite_ out of the kitchen, Harry thinks he hears his beloved teapot shatter in the space left free behind his head. It was going to be another one of those days.

...

With a crack, Harry apparates at the end of Andromeda's garden path. He's been told a thousand times to zip straight into the house, but he's never really felt comfortable enough to just appear in someone's front room. Privet Drive, he supposes, was good for instilling a sense of manners into him, if nothing else.

As he moves towards the cottage's little blue front door, he inhales the familiar smell of wild poppies, foxglove and English roses. He takes a long, deep breath and lets the scent settle his over-buzzing head. He knocks at the door and hears a gentle voice drifting past the wood.

"Coming, Harry!"

The door is pulled open and he looks into the smiling face of Teddy's grandmother. He raises his eyebrows and throws her a bemused smile as he steps into the lounge.

"How did you know it was me?"

She gives him a look of exasperated fondness that it seems all parents are taught to give to scheming children.

"Because I've told you time and again to just pop straight in, but you never listen."

Harry feels like he's been caught with his hand in the biscuit tin, and lets a sheepish grin spread across his face. It's nice to have a metaphorical biscuit tin from which to steal, and he's happy to play up the naughty schoolboy cliché for all it's worth.

"You're the only one who knocks at the door, Harry," Andromeda continues to chide him, moving towards the kitchen. "Honestly, who else would it be?"

He follows her through the snug, sunlit lounge and a pang of... something or other, takes hold in his chest. This home is so warm, so bright, so – well, homely, that he suddenly regrets the flat; a place of convenience, of making do, a siding shed pretending to be a home. Not for the first time, he wonders if he should attempt to fix up Sirius' old place. A lick of paint here, a spot of napalm there, and he's sure he could make it vaguely habitable. The notion of asking Kreacher to paint the hallway orange conjures a smirk for a second - that is until the guilt kicks in like an old friend and he recalls why he's been avoiding it. The too-familiar black cloud settles back down behind his eyelids and sends a small shudder through the front of his brain – no, maybe not Grimmauld; too many memories there for that to happen.

Stepping into the kitchen, he lets out a disappointed sigh that tastes of inevitability, and causes Andromeda to pause in her search for tea-making apparatus.

"Oh, my," she says with a small smile, "and what was that in aid of?"

Harry lets himself be warmed by her concern and reaches across the counter to give her hand a reassuring squeeze.

"It's fine," he dismisses, a shake of his head dispersing the cloud. "Just a niggle thing – you know."

Andromeda's smile turns wry at the edges. "Ah, yes – the infamous niggles. Such is the drama of life." Her eyes light up with a mischievous twinkle and she turns back to the tea.

Tea. The ritual of universal betterment and joy. He loves Andromeda's tea - mischievous twinkle and all. She always knows just how to make him feel more chipper.

The sound of soft, padding footsteps precedes the slow nudging-open of the kitchen door. Bedraggled and despondent-looking, somehow wearing only one sock (the other obviously consigned to oblivion), Teddy slips quietly into the kitchen.

Oh dear. It's a bad one today. It's not the downcast expression that does it, nor is it the forlorn look in his eyes. Nope, what really gives it away is the bogey-purple. Harry thinks it has a name like taupe, or mauve, or puce – something artsy he can never recall – but in his mind, that odd combination of purple, grey and greenish-beige can only be described as bogey-purple. And bogey-purple is not a good sign. He knows from experience that mustard yellow is having a sulk, pale mint-green means he's feeling poorly, and that electric purple follows a tantrum-throwing wobbly of epic proportions. But nothing says resigned, appalling sadness quite like bogey-purple.

Chin down and eyes to the floor, Teddy slinks over to Harry and wraps his arms around his leg. Sharing 'a look' with Andromeda, he reaches a hand down to ruffle through the hideously-coloured hair.

A small voice travels up from his knees, "'Lo, Harry."

"Hey, kiddo. You having a bit of a day, mate?" Harry moves his other hand to gently pat Teddy's arm, and is gratified to feel some of the tension drop away from the small shoulders.

"Yeah." The answer is quiet, mumbled into the flat of his thigh. "I can't find Hubert and Jemima."

Harry raises his eyebrows at Andromeda, who silently mouths, "_imaginary friends,"_ while handing him his tea.

"Oh," he says, a little bit thrown. "Well, I'm sure they'll turn up eventually." What do you say when imaginary friends go missing? At Teddy's age, he'd only had Boris - the spider under the stairs - and he didn't go missing so much as... meiotically reincarnate.

"Yeah. I guess." A loud, beleaguered sigh that really shouldn't amuse him as much as it does, huffs from the little boy clutching at his knee.

"Good man," Harry reassures, and hides a grin as Teddy slopes away to the lounge.

Once the door closes, Harry lets loose a small chuckle and wraps both his hands around the mug of warm, glorious tea. Taking a sip, he makes the satisfied, first-sip sigh that involuntary custom dictates and leans back against the counter.

"So what happened this time?" Andromeda's voice startles him for a moment, lost as he was in the blissful, tea-induced haze, and he takes another fortifying sip of English Breakfast before carrying on.

"This one decided I was more his cup of tea than Ginny. She was," he clenches his jaw for a moment, thinking of his lovely crockery, "distinctly unimpressed."

Andromeda, used to this progression of woes, lowers her teacup and offers a sympathetic wince. "Plates?"

He nods.

"Bowls?"

Nods again. Looks at her expectantly.

"No! She didn't?" Andromeda puts her tea back on the counter and turns with a shocked expression to the rest of the tea service, hand moving in a pseudo-protective motion over the teapot.

"Yup," he confirms bitterly. "In the space left behind by my head." He looks enviously at Andromeda's lovely, complete tea service and snaps his jaw closed. He's going to be bitter about this for a long time; he _loved_ that teapot.

"Oh, Harry." She reaches a hand over to give his arm a consolatory pat, and picks up her tea again. "You know you should have moved out long ago," she chides.

"Yes," he nods, "right after the first dinner set. But I'm not ready for Grimmauld, Andie." And there it is again, the cloud. He can feel it trying to ingrain itself into his mind, and he takes another sip of the English Breakfast; as if all the world's ills could be cured with his placebo of choice.

"Even still?" Her eyes are kind, but there's a heaviness behind them in the question; there always is when it comes to Grimmauld. It's melancholy, but it fortifies Harry. He's pleased to know she misses her cousin as much as he does.

"Even still." He takes a final swig from his mug and pops it gaily onto the counter, determined to pull his mood up from the dust of bad memories.

"So. How are the dancing lessons going? Managed to swag yourself a charmingly debonair wizard, yet?" She shakes her head at him, eyes crinkling with mirth at the edges.

"I will when you will, Harry," she counters, and they laugh together at the old joke. It's the little things, he thinks, that will always make him happiest. Jokes, tea, allegorical biscuit receptacles and all. Once again he's infused with the warmth of this place and he reaches over to Andromeda with a wide smile, wrapping her up in a grand hug.

"You know," she says through his unruly hair, "you're always welcome here. Teddy would love to have you with us."

The offer is expected, and he knows how much he'd love it here, but there's that niggle that calls him to Grimmauld. To the flat. To try to find somewhere of his own. But he knows that's a bit of a lie; it's more that if he decided to stay, he's not sure if he could ever bring himself to leave. He hugs her with a final squeeze, steps back with the same knowing smile he always gives and everything's back to normal.

She gives his shoulder an encouraging pat and pops her empty teacup by the sink. "I'd best go sit with young Ted for a while – try and do something about that lamentable shade of hair. Come join us when you've 'got your headspace sorted.'" The last sentence is said with a half-mocking head shake, dangling the sense of 'young people are silly' that always accompanies her use of his words.

Harry gives her a look – his turn for exasperated fondness, now – and reactively gives in to his inner silly child: he crosses his eyes and pokes out his tongue. Her glorious laugh follows her out of the room, and things just seem that much brighter. God, he's glad to have this place to come to. Even if it's not truly his home, it feels like one. And that, he thinks, is enough for now.

He's interrupted from his musings by a voice coming through the kitchen window. It's clipped, cultured and smooth, and one he's heard before. Harry checks the instinctive scowl that's about to appear on his face because for all of its uppity smugness, the voice is not quite the same; it's never been so bright, sounded so happy, when it's been directed at him.

"Aunt A? Are you there?"

Through the gingham curtains Harry can make out hair like sunlight, a frankly strokable blue polo shirt that seems to show more than it hides, and dear _God_ look at what those jeans do for his arse. Jeans! Surely fate has picked today to ruin him forever by placing Draco Perfect Sodding Malfoy in those jeans.

"Aunt A?"

The dulcet tones chime again across the garden and Harry pauses for the split-second it takes for him to realise he has to answer. Luckily, a small four year-old hurricane spares him from discovery as Teddy sprints past him in a blur of flailing limbs and bubblegum -pink hair.

"Draco!" Teddy shouts, running outside to throw himself around Malfoy, who is – surely not? No, he is – kneeling in the dirt, arms outstretched ready to swoop Teddy into a big, tight hug.

Harry feels a pang of resentment that his welcome was significantly less elated than Malfoy's, but he shakes his head and swallows it down. Stupid brain.

He watches Malfoy swing Teddy 'round, smiling at the grin on Teddy's face. Malfoy lets out an amused chuckle and lowers his armful to the ground.

"Hello, scamp," Harry hears. "How's my favourite cousin today?"

Teddy's hair flashes from happiness bubblegum-pink back to bogey-purple, and Harry winces at the change.

"I can't find Hubo and Jemima."

Harry feels a smug sense of anticipation in waiting to see how Malfoy deals with that little gem. Malfoy may have better swinging-around-the-garden tactics, but Harry is at least confident he'll be equally stumped by missing imaginary friends. And then the bottom drops out of his stomach a ways as Harry realises he's just carried their rivalry over to Teddy. With a grounding breath he closes his eyes and tilts his head back to exhale; sometimes he's a real dick, honestly. Letting it go, Harry still takes cover behind the gingham and looks on as Malfoy once again sinks down into the dirt.

"Well that's no good," Malfoy consoles, a frown appearing between his (perfect) eyebrows. "Where did you see them last?"

Teddy's face scrunches up as he makes his brain work through the memories. "In my room. We were going to go and play."

Malfoy's face turns pensive and he brings his fingers up to briefly rub his chin. "Hmmm... and did they say you were going to play outside?"

"Yes." Teddy's face is at once hopeful and excited, waiting. Malfoy, Harry thinks, has played this bloody well. Bastard.

"Well there you have it!" Malfoy flashes a beaming smile Teddy's way and Harry is just a little stunned by its brilliance. He'd do a lot, he thinks, to have one of those flashed at him. Teddy is sporting an 'unsure-but-game' half-smile and takes Malfoy's hand as the git stands up, seemingly uncaring of the dirt all over his perfect, delectable, arse-hugging, lovely jeans.

"Obviously," Malfoy explains, "you're not meant to find them straight away – that's what hide and seek's all about!" Harry's jaw drops – there's no way Malfoy's just pulled that one out of the bag.

But Teddy's hair is once more a glaring shade of pink, and he's leading Malfoy around the garden like a pro'.

"Let's look in the chicken coop first!" Teddy tugs at Malfoy's hand, earning him a heart-warming smile. And now Teddy's rummaging through the chickens' hay, unsettling the eggs, and Malfoy's got his smiling game-face on, all the while being sterling about it all and tidying up the coop, distracting Teddy from not finding them.

"They're not here, Draco!" Teddy's voice takes on a sort-of whine; Harry's heart thuds in sympathy and he hopes Malfoy can swerve this one back on track, too.

"Well," comes the voice, _that_ voice, again, "chickens are quite boring." Harry swears one of the hens turns what he imagines is a murderous glare on the Slytherin, and he has to stifle a laugh at the thought of chicken-ny malfeasance and fowl play.

Malfoy's eyes twitch slightly and Harry steps further behind the shelter of the gingham.

"Perhaps we should try somewhere else," Malfoy's drawls. Harry peeks out from behind the curtain and watches them head over to the treehouse. Teddy scrambles up the rope-ladder Harry had made for him, and the sound of banging and crashes echoes down from the branches of the oak.

Staying close to the tree, Malfoy keeps a watchful eye on the ladder and gives a sly side-smile in Harry's direction. There's no eye contact, but Harry's not altogether convinced he's not been rumbled.

"They're not here, either, Draco!" Teddy bolts down the rope-ladder and Malfoy reaches out a hand to steady the way down.

"Maybe they can't climb that far," Malfoy suggests with raised eyebrows. "I don't think they'd manage too well on that ladder."

"Yeah," Teddy agrees, his hair back to his normal fluffy brown. He pauses for a moment and then beams at Malfoy, bouncing from foot to foot. "I think I know where they are!" And just like that, he's off like a shot, racing across the lawn to the other side of the garden.

"Be careful near the water, Teddy!" Malfoy calls, and Harry's chest thumps with a strange beat of affection. Teddy's small shadow disappears from view and Harry realises he's going to have to move if he wants to continue his spying. He weighs up the importance of looking out for Teddy, the sneaky thrill of maintaining an eyeful of Malfoy (and he's sure his brain _really_ didn't just make that joke), and the comedy of watching the bizarre imaginary friend soap opera play out, against the not-so-good possibly of being outed by the red chequered curtain.

He hears Teddy rummaging in the reeds by the small pond and makes a flash decision; if Teddy's near the water, he reasons, Malfoy needs all the help he can get. Last summer's "tadpole" incident need never be repeated again.

Harry straightens his back and dredges up something that smells like confidence before bravely stepping through the back door and out into the garden. He's treated to the sight of a galumphing Teddy running laps, dambuster-like, around the pond, whooping and giggling and making the best racket a four-year old can. On his return-lap, he spies Harry and changes course to come bombing towards him.

"Harry! Harry, I found them!" Harry braces himself for incoming-godson and lets out a trying "umph" as Teddy launches himself up at his arms.

"Ugh, you're getting heavy, kiddo," Harry teases, tweaking a finger-full of bright pink hair. "Good job, Ted! " Harry smiles encouragingly. "Knew they'd turn up in the end."

"Yeah, Harry! " Still bubbling with excitement, the small boy starts to squirm in Harry's grip, and he lets him down to the ground. He's treated to a fierce hug and a huge grin before Teddy runs off back into the house, shouting something about 'sticky-glue' and 'off-ground touch.' Harry shakes his head with a puzzled quirk of his lips, and then freezes. Ah. The garden, it occurs to him, is now a child-free zone. Which means he's left alone with –

"Decided to emerge from behind the gingham, Potter?"

- Malfoy. Shit.

Harry turns, slapping his best game-face on, and wheels out the smile that he knows has middle-aged women tremble at the knees.

"Well, I guess hide and seek's not my forte after all," he quips, and dear _God_ if that voice isn't even deadlier close up.

"Oh, I don't know, Potter ," Malfoy's smirks, and Harry has to forcefully tell his brain that licking it off his face is _not_ an acceptable response. "Surely that depends entirely on if you want to be found?" Harry's going to die now. Seriously. He is.

Harry clears his throat whilst simultaneously attempting to force the blush aiming for his neck out of sight and back down to his groin. Or, maybe not. Bad idea. Stupid brain! "You're looking well, Malfoy." And how! " How've you been?"

"Civility, Potter? I'm touched." Malfoy's smirk curls up at the edges and Harry wonders if it's the beginnings of a smile. "Things are better – still not as good as they could be, but I can't complain. I'm guessing you life is sugar and roses as per usual?"

Harry remembers the teapot incident this morning and shelves the brief scowl it brings to his face. "Guess on, Malfoy." The scowl, however, is proving harder to dismiss than anticipated, and Harry goes for distraction instead. "So, I didn't realise you were so close to Teddy and Andromeda."

A cold look darkens Malfoy's face, and Harry realises the scowl may have bled through just a little. "They're family, Potter." And the voice has gone from absinthe, pleasure-clad velvet to cold, knee-breaking steel, and the look levelled Harry's way is simply deadly, "Despite what some people might think."

Harry shakes his head and holds out his hands, quickly trying to explain. "No, Malfoy, I didn't mean that in a bad way. Not at all." The look on Malfoy's face still hasn't subsided, so he soldiers on. "It's obvious you adore Teddy; I'm-" he pauses for a second but, in for a penny... " actually I'm quite jealous."

The hard gaze softens minutely, and with a slight raise of his eyebrows, Malfoy encourages him to go further.

"No, really. You were so good with him today – I'm useless at that kind of thing." Really, Harry muses, how does someone glean honesty with just their eyebrows? "Look - you really cheered him up. I couldn't do anything. I'm actually... very glad you were here." Harry has to swallow a little at just _how_ glad he seems to have been that Malfoy was here, and he's sure that he's just lost whatever game it is they've been playing.

Malfoy, however, seems to be gracious in victory, and changes the subject with the height of mercy tact; grey eyes sparkling all the while. "Well, anything to get rid of that despicable hair colour."

"Ah, yes," Harry nods. "The bogey-purple. I whole-heartedly agree."

A somewhat surprising chuckle breaks from Malfoy's lips, and again Harry tells his brain to _behave._ Chuckles are not sexy. Nope. Not at all. "'Bogey-purple?' Yes, I suppose that is an accurate, if somewhat horrific, description." The curl-smirk is back again, and Harry thinks that tracing it with his tongue might just... No! "And you're wrong, you know. I haven't seen it, but you must be wonderful with Teddy; he never stops talking about you."

Harry's stunned. I mean, really stunned, and the question flies from him before he can stop it. "Really?"

"Really." Malfoy's eyes are serious, but warm, and the air between them starts to heavy itself with the weight of the two of them being so damn _nice_ to each other.

Harry knows he should say the appropriate thank you, but he can't help tip the cart a little and holds the tension for a little longer; stretching it out, neither wanting to break their smile first. When Malfoy's lips start to twitch an infinitesimal amount, Harry counters slyly, "God, that must drive you nuts."

Still holding the eye-contact and the smile, Malfoy meets the challenge. "You have no idea." The air frees itself as the smiles flitter between mischievous smirks and genuine warmth. There's a trace of desire lingering around Malfoy's eyes, and Harry can feel himself sinking into the grey. Oh, yes. Suffocate me, Harry thinks, and then wakes up as the smiles have gone on for a little too long. With a discreet cough, Harry latches back onto a safe topic.

"So, he found his missing friends after all –great touch with the hide and seek, by the way. So where were they?"

Malfoy rolls his eyes and gives Harry his trademark 'you're-an-idiot' stare, but this time it's accepting, and Harry thinks he might have just fallen a little bit further. "Honestly, Potter, they were in the duck pond. It was obvious."

"They're imaginary!" Harry protests. "How was I supposed to know where they'd be?"

"Where else would you find a duck-billed platypus?" Malfoy's voice is rich with warmth and full of mocking exasperation, and the look he throws at Harry is one of genuine mirth. A laugh escapes from Harry's lips, and once it starts it seems there's no stopping it. Malfoy's eyebrows quirk upward and a slight tremor of amusement passes through his shoulders. For some reason, this makes Harry laugh even harder, and it's not long before Malfoy's joining in and Christ, if that's not the best sound Harry's heard in his entire life. The laughter seems to wear both of them out. Malfoy's bent over, looking up at Harry through blond strands. A flash of heat runs right through him at the intensity in those eyes, and Harry throws caution to the wolves.

"Malfoy, you're a git. I think I could like you very much. How about we start over?" Harry thrusts out his hand and this time, this time, there's no holding back from either of them. Malfoy offers a genuine smile and reaches out to clasp his wrist.

"It would be very much my pleasure. Harry." He purrs out Harry's name, and a slow caress of his fingers brushes over his wrist. Fire flares up in Harry's eyes and the game is _so_ on.

"And mine," Harry promises, running his fingertips over the tender skin. "Especially," he smirks from the side, "if you decide to keep wearing those jeans."

...

From the overlooking, upstairs bedroom window, a young lad with bubblegum-pink hair smiles at the two platypi on his shoulders. "Hubo, Jemima, I think that's a job well done."

_- fin -_


End file.
